I hate Sundays and holiday weekends (because then Monday becomes Sunday.) Sunday is the day I am most likely to be alone. To avoid a relapse of depression as much as possible I have to at least get out of the house. So I go to Borders or Barnes and Noble for at least a few hours. There I try to read as much as possible, from New Age to the Classics to philosophyto short stories and magazines. By the end of about four or five hours I am in a bloodshot daze (like I am when I spend hours looking at pornography, but that daze is pleasurable in a much different way) and I shuffle from the store.

The question is: Does Junot Diaz read Wittgenstein? Or the Classics? Or Kant, etc...? See, I'm preparing to annihilate him in a literary war and I want to be well-prepared and stocked with ammunition.

I only want to become famous so I can verbally pummel Junot Diaz. He's pretentious. And racist. And he tries too hard to be cool (pretentious), ghetto (pretentious), and salt of the earth yet brilliant and quotey and blurby (pretentious.) He writes Newsweek-sounding ish for the jackets of other racist books.

I want to fuckin' destroy him!

But I'm pretentious too...